BRAPA .... LOVES EWE JUST THE WAY YOU ARE : POST BILLY JOEL GLAMORGAN TICKING

The Family BRAP in Cardiff

Saturday 10th August, 10am

With the rain teeming down in Cardiff city centre, it was time to say farewell to Daddy BRAPA, Mummy BRAPA and Sister BRAPA as they drove home to York after we'd watched the amazing Billy Joel the previous evening. His first time in Wales.

The family might've been in an Old York State of Mind, but I was Movin' Out. Mum questioned my wisdom but I told her this is My Life (go ahead with your own life, leave me alone). Great opportunity to spend a weekend ticking some more Glamorgan pubs, following on from my promising holiday here back in April.

In other news, Pieminister struggled to handle the Pressure. Pizza Express much better, absolute Scenes from an Italian Restaurant there. And I'd won at Lexicon in a late night game which really lasted The Longest Time. The Queen's Vaults had failed to recapture the magic of my debut visit but the family had tried their best ....

But The Cottage (a late Sister BRAPA choice which I hadn't been to since 2011) had been the pub highlight and we all drank lots ....

Best beer had either been the Pizza Express Meantime beer, or even the £7.80 plastic pint of Ffresh by Glamorgan which I bought in the Principality .....

I transported my baggage from our little holiday hovel, affectionately nicknamed 'Hard Luck Hotel' after a Count Duckula episode, to the Premier Inn, separating out the BRAPA essentials, and I was on my way to Central Station.

I didn't have my usual BRAPA game-face on however, and stood on the wrong part of the platform, realised last minute, ran down, but missed the bloody train! The guard tells me I have to wait another half an hour. Very annoying but at least the Night (day) Is Still Young.

Wyndham Arms, Bridgend (2936 / 5096) was the first of twelve ticks this weekend. A 'Spoons so an early opener, my final Glamorgan letter 'B', and a nice easy train (or it should've been). Relief to get out of busy Cardiff too as departing Billy Joelers mix with arriving Mackems, rain cascading down the High Street, creating a River of Dreams (well, screams). At the bar, I nestle in next to an old guy and order a pint of powerful Rhymney Export cos he just has, rebadged for some legendary #PubMan who died recently. Dai Young? Only the Good? Sorry if this punning is getting annoying, that's the last one. Anyway, weirdly every new arrival stands behind me. I'd say pub queuing, but it was more like sheep in a huddle. As their weird behaviour is creating a blockage, an enterprising barman shouts over the top of my head "Can you all move down to the bar?" Bit of bleating, but they manage it. All is gentle and uneventful until this dude called Paul (or was it Pete or Phil?) spies my GBG, tells me he's left his wife in the shops, daughter at dance class, so is sneaking a quick pint in. Lovely chap, knows every pub on my list, apart from the next one I'm going to. Pub carpet is undeniably austere Welsh, an above average Spoons.

That's the look of sheep mascot terrified of a 5% beer at 10am

As lovely as 'Paul' was, the chat had 'eaten' into my 'Tesco Bridgend food buying' time. And with everything else today more rural, I'd not get a better chance. Hence, why I'd be so badly flagging by pub six!

The Cardiff bound trains are still bonkers boyo busy as I leave Bridgend for a station halfway back called Pontyclun.

The GBG says it is a short walk to Tyla Garw but Google Maps goes silly and reckons it is 33 mins, with no way across the railway line.

Thankfully, I choose to ignore that advice, cross the railway bridge, find a back exit, and fight my way through this industrial estate where thankfully I find a cut through not marked on the maps. Still in teeming rain of course. But I made it in 12 mins!

Boar's Head, Tyla Garw (2937 / 5097) starts an annoying trend of having zero signal in pubs without Wi-Fi, not ideal when Billy Joel has prevented you from doing your normally diligent pre-trip planning! A foody but Glamorgan foody pub, which means it gets away with it due to church-like high ceilinged old rooms, swirly wallpaper, corridors and rugs. Like a less annoying Brunning & Price. The tiling in the Gents loos is the highlight. Having said all this, the first thing I witness is a toddler in a highchair being praised for his cucumber consumption by a proud Mummy and Daddy, plus passing staff. In Surrey, it'd be irritating, here it is almost endearing. But only because a group a grumpy farm blokes are pretending not to notice. Just the one ale on, Jemima Pitchfork (or 'Puddleduck Prodder' as only I call it). It is as good as any drink I have today. I sit in the big side lounge, where a bunch of moon-faced Teen Angels arrive late on and start looking at menus and specials boards. I'm restless due to this lack of signal, so drink a bit quicker and get moving.

Signal comes back as I come out of the dip and head up hill. Not a lot of buses so I decide to walk. Unfortunately, a section of the A473 has no pedestrian walkway, and the riverside footpath I'm on doesn't allow you to cross the river to make progress!

So I go the long way around and find a bike track / footpath. Even when I see the pub from a bridge, I can't get down so have to follow a local dog lady who has found a cut through .... rain finally easing, Hull City 0-0 Bristol City on the opening day of the season, this was vintage BRAPA ....

I'd have really rated the Cross Inn Hotel, Cross Inn (2938 / 5098) except for the fact that I found it deceptively unfriendly. Let me explain. So you walk in, very busy, in a healthy "this is how a village pub should be" kinda way. Proper atmos. And beautiful wooden interior. All are laughing and joking, some men are smartly dressed for the occasion, great deep timbre in their voices, one even sporting a pin badge daffodil in his lapel. Bit of Tom Jones style chest hair sticks out in tufts on those who've gone more casual. But furtive glances towards the visitor (well, me). Most notably the barmaid, who has noticed my 'British Real Ale Pub Adventure' t-shirt and sees it as something of a threat. Maybe it is passive aggressive, I dunno! I sit at the far end out on a limb, where I belong, near the empty budgie cage (did it die?) - problem is that the kitchen / staff door is near me, and every blinkin' time I look up, she's walking past eyeballing me. The Gorslas is drinking fine, but without the Jemima magic. I don't return my empty glass when I leave (rare for me), I didn't think they deserved it!

Yet again, my reception had dropped completely as I entered the village, no sign of Wifi and no way I was asking the question in that place.

Looks a short walk to pub #4 but what the map doesn't tell you, steep hill alert! Oh well, at least my reception temporarily recovers. Long enough for me to see Hull City have conceded a late goal. "Hah!" I say bitterly to a passing magpie bobbing about in front of me.

Pub of the day is undoubtedly the Wheatsheaf Hotel, Llantrisant (2939 / 5099). Getting into a companionable chat with the landlord is the perfect tonic after the last experience. He recommends this beer I've never heard of from a place I've never heard of, his locals swear by it, and by 'eck it is gorgeous petal. Moreish. Crack cocaine as secret ingredient? Reminds me of the first time I got on the Carlisle State Bitter and couldn't stop! He tells me he's only been here since 2020, his first pub attempt, but he's made it bit rougher around the edges, 'pubbier' and "less beige". Done a great job as I'd think this was an unspoilt, untouched 17th century gem if he'd not said. Multiple rooms, central corridor, top tiling, all the good stuff. A man watching the Olympics grunts at me pleasantly. Had I received the exact same grunt in Cross Inn, I'd have assumed it meant "fuck off back to England you pub geek". Funny how pubs seep into your mind. I keep chatting with mine host. Not too many ales on at a time, "Beer waste is bad, I give it to my pigs!" he tells me. #PubMan #PubPigs He likes BRAPA too which helps. Some locals arrive so I make my excuses and go exploring, then I sit near the grunter (not a pig). Fantastic pub. Tell everyone the beer was flippin' amazing as I leave which they love.

But in keeping with the day so far, I'd had no signal the moment I entered Llantrisant. And absolutely no point in asking about the WiFi possibilities here.

I knew it'd cost me eventually and it did, I stood on wrong side for the bus bound for Church Village. Gah! It is cos I had clicked on the pub rather than the actual stop.

I rush across the road because another bus is due in two mins. Sadly, it doesn't go to Church Village but it does go to Beaddau, which gives me a rural walk along a back road. Sun is out now, and warm, and I've gone from wet due to rain to wet due to sweat when I arrive at pub #5.

Signal comes back halfway on my walk, so I check Flash Scores assuming Hull City lost, but flip me, they only went and equalised in injury time. "Hah!" I say to a blackbird who is bobbing around at my feet looking a bit dense.

Nice happy breezy pub experience at the Farmers Arms, Upper Church Village (2940 / 5100) as staff and locals laugh at my sweaty state and I complain about the long walk and no one quite knows why I've walked and I'm too embarrassed to explain my bus faux pas. Elsie Mo seems the right beer for the occasion, party like we're in Nottingham's VAT & Fiddle 2010. In a Wainwright glass, specially for me due to my walking prowess (they didn't say this, I just assumed). No signal, quelle surprise, but what is this I see? Pub Wifi! I almost sobbed. I get chatting to this lovely couple who love Brekkie the Sheep, my sweating messiness, and my tales of today. Being local, they tell me I'm finally in luck as a rare two hourly bus is only 20 mins away to take me to Trefforest. They even tell me where to stand, which is good cos looking at Google, I might've made the exact same mistake again! Like I said at start of this blog, the BRAPA game-face wasn't on today and it is because the circs leading up to today's trip were so un BRAPesque!

Only photo I remembered to take inside

Bus driver was all like "I don't technically stop in the centre of Trefforest boyo" and I think he was trying to be helpful, but it came across as pedantic. My patience was wearing thin after a trying day. So I had a 5 minute walk? After what had gone before, barely worth mentioning!

This outer greenness was my highlight at Rickards Arms, Trefforest (2941 / 5101), combined with the green highlighting I performed! Reminds me of one of those sturdy boozers in the Cardiff 'burbs, not wholly convincing due to modern attempts to zhush 'em up which unwittingly result in a rather bland echo chamber with random nods to 'craft'. Whatever that means. Not very Welsh. Could be anywhere in southern England. Didn't totally dislike the gaff, in fairness it didn't help that my beer drinking was a serious struggle by now, having not eaten since Daddy BRAPA made me a slice of toast at 9am. I ordered some bacon fries to wash down my funky pint of Mumbles Mist, a decent drop and mist rhymes with pist which I was. Lacking customers, large clompy place, loos up yonder, I think that was about it.

No chance I was up to tackling the other Trefforest tick til tomorrow so I (wisely) head back to Cardiff, check in, buy a big bag of food and cold drinks, have half of it, and then as a side project I'm sure you're familiar with by now, decide to visit the Cardiff City Stadium Premier Inn bar.

I asked for a bottle of Atlantic, he says "oh we have it on draft" so I say "even better". I listen to Angel Du$t and plan tomorrow's day two trip to Pontypridd. Feeling hazy but a little bit fresher now!

And I'll tell you about Day two on Sunday. If you read every word of this, you are entitled to a free pint next time I see you.

Si